


Napkin, Crumpled and White

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-06
Updated: 2005-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: He had been having a pleasant day.  No one had bothered him, no one had called him names, he hadn’t fallen down the stairs or spilled his lunch or...or...or anything.





	Napkin, Crumpled and White

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Title:** Napkin, Crumpled and White [ I / I ]  
 **Author:** **_carondelet_** // **_carondelet11_**  
 **Character(s) / Pairing:** Neville Longbottom  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Word Count:** 2,218  
 **Spoilers:** Books 1-5  
 **Summary:** He had been having a pleasant day. No one had bothered him, no one had called him names, he hadn’t fallen down the stairs or spilled his lunch or...or...or anything.  
 **Notes:** originally published 14 June 2005 // 1356  
 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

 

**_____________________________________**

**NAPKIN, CRUMPLED AND WHITE**

[] OR, IT’S SUCH A NICE MESS, THOUGH

**_____________________________________**

 

**Neville Longbottom knew** what the word “crush”� meant.

He knew it **exactly**. There was no mistaking it. He wagered that if someone were to look up the word in the dictionary in Hogwarts’ library right then, they would see him blinking back in the definition’s stead.

And looking pretty stupid, too.

_Crush._

He was also the past tense. _Crushed._

He **had** been having a pleasant day. No one had bothered him, no one had called him names, he hadn’t fallen down the stairs or spilled his lunch or...or...or anything.

Yet.

He sighed and stared at the grass in front of him.

He had hoped that things would be a little different for him Sixth Year. After all, he had been doing well in Herbology and had been improving in Potions as a result, he had proven himself a help to Harry in the Department of Mysteries, he had finally been able to confront the woman of his nightmares, and he was a member of Dumbledore’s Army.

But, no, to everyone else at Hogwarts, he was still the same old Neville.

He sighed again and slumped against the wall.

Slumped. That was where it started. **_The ~~Smushing~~ ~~Flattening~~ ~~Mushing~~ Crushing of Neville Longbottom._**

He was sitting at the base of his tree. It was his tree; no one else had a claim on it. He liked his tree. It was a peaceful spot, safe from rolling eyes and shaking heads and snarky mouths. Here he could just sit and daydream and be away from the jokes and the ribbing for a little while.

It wasn’t his roommates — no, never his roommates, they were all used to having a good laugh at each other’s expenses. No one was better or worse, no one was immune, the wind ups were handed out evenly among them.

It wasn’t so much his classmates.

It was those bloody Slytherin.

Never mind that he had a difficult time looking at any of them anymore. He found himself wondering which of them was active as a Junior Death Eater. The more he wondered that, the more he found himself wanting to hex one of them.

Any of them.

_Okay, mostly Malfoy._

That would make him happy, he reckoned. Maybe Ginny Weasley would teach him the bat-bogey hex, just in case.

Even if she did teach it to him, he couldn’t exactly go around the school hexing Slytherin left and right. Though he didn’t think anyone would give it much mind. He couldn’t do it. **_No son of Frank and Alice Longbottom would do such a thing like that._**

He sighed again. _Yes, Gram. Okay, Gram, I won’t._

He leaned back against the bark and looked up, across the lake.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had their own tree. They used it for studying. More Harry and Hermione, as Ron didn’t seem to be too keen on that particular chore. He didn’t blame him; studying didn’t come easy to him either. He was grateful that they had Hermione to look to. She had helped him on a number of occasions with Potions class. He felt that, thanks to her patience with him, that he had improved in all of his classes as a result.

Confidence. That was the trick.

He stared at the sky, looking at the clouds.

No one else knew about his tree. No one, that was to say, other than Luna Lovegood. She had done little more than tilt her head at him, blink those incredibly large, blue eyes of hers, and then slowly meander away, singing something that sounded suspiciously like the ingredients list to _Sudusum_ potion.

She never mentioned seeing him there and she never came back round.

She was an odd girl, but Neville liked her.

He was staring at the sky, looking for shapes in the clouds. His gram once told him that if you find the shape of your heart in the clouds, you can make a wish on it and it will come true.

His gram was a little funny like that.

But still...he was sitting at the base of his tree, his face to the sky, looking for shapes in the clouds. To...hope on or wish on or something.

He was also having a bit of a daydream.

It was another reason why Neville liked his tree. He could daydream and not worry about Terrance Nott tripping him up or Pansy Parkinson stepping on the edges of his robes or Draco Malfoy tying his shoelaces together.

And so Neville sat and looked and watched and daydreamed. He was indulging himself, something he rarely did.

He fancied a girl.

Another rarity.

She wasn’t really a girl — she was more like a woman. He was a boy, a mere boy in comparison, so he knew that it was hopeless, utterly hopeless, there was nothing at all that she would possibly find...appealing in him; and yet, he still found himself thinking of her. Daydreaming of her.

_If I find my cloud, I might even make a wish about her._

He wasn’t stupid. Not like the Slytherin said, at any rate. The Slytherin thought everyone was stupid, though, so he didn’t take it personally. He knew that he had no chance with her.

_I mean, she’s...she and I’m me and...and...and...I’m buggered._

_sigh_

But he had been having a good day. He had received good marks on his Herbology paper, he hadn’t blown anything up in Charms, he hadn’t forgotten anything (his Rememberall was nice and clear), and he actually thought he looked pretty...decent.

He had grown up a fair bit. He wasn’t the short, plump little boy of First Year. Now he was tall, as tall as Ron, a bit on the gangly side, and his face and body had caught up to his ears.

He had taken a quick glance in the mirror and had thought to himself, _Not bad, Longbottom._

That kind of thinking was spectacular for him. He wanted to tell someone, but thought it would sound too bloody egotistical.

_Just like Malfoy. Eugh._

So it wasn’t without just a little hope that Neville sat beneath the branches of his tree. The day was cheery and bright; the air was crisp and there was a slight breeze; the lake was filled with gentle ripples. The sound of the water softly lapping and the movement of the leaves and the far off murmur of voices made things very nice indeed.

There were clouds tracing their way across the sky. Some slips of white, others massive puffs of…condensation? he thought that’s what Hermione had told him once.

One cloud in particular caught his attention.

It looked very small from his vantage point; he could barely discern it. At first, he thought it might be a bird, but it wasn’t behaving like a bird.

He squinted and watched it move.

The shape steadily became larger in his vision.

The shape of this cloud began to take on a familiar form.

He craned his neck to follow its movement. And then he froze.

There was the sound of footsteps in the woods behind him.

_Bugger_ , Neville thought to himself.

Then he heard the sound of voices.

“It’s nice out here,”� said a feminine voice.

_Crikey. It’s...her!_

He flattened himself against the tree and stared ahead of him, his eyes wide. _OhMerlinohMerlinohMerlinohMerlin..._

“It is indeed,”� said a second voice. A male voice.

Neville frowned. It sounded familiar to him...

“Come here,”� she said to him, her voice lowering into something that was between a whisper and a purr.

Neville immediately didn’t feel well.

“What is it?”� said her male companion, something of a smile in his voice.

Neville closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. He didn’t feel justified in sitting there anymore. Even though it was his tree, to overhear...what he thought...he was...

There were humming sounds from behind him, wet and soft and humming sounds.

Neville clasped his robes in his hands to steady himself.

_Oh Merlin...they’re having a snog... **she’s** having a snog...with...with...bugger..._

The noises stopped and he heard her sigh. “That was good,”� she said in a soft voice.

_I don’t feel so good._

“I liked it.”� There was a pause and then, “Doesn’t your secret admirer come out this way?”�

“Admirer? Who do you mean?”�

_Bug-ger._

“The twitchy one, you know, Fartbottom.”�

Neville wondered if they would notice if he jumped into the lake. Probably not.

“He’s my secret admirer?”� She sounded surprised. And amused.

The merpeople might take him in. He could just keep eating gillyweed hour after hour....

“Yeah, he’s besotted with you. Or haven’t you noticed?”�

A girlish titter. “He’s never said anything.”�

“He never would. I think he’s been trying to work up the nerve to ask you.”�

“I guess I noticed that he liked me. I mean, he did say some things.”�

“So why didn’t you follow up on it?”�

“I’m just not interested in him. He’s nice, but a bit...boring. I’m more interested in someone like you...besides, you knew he fancied me and that didn’t stop you.”�

“No, I suppose that it didn’t.”�

“I never made him like me, you know.”� She sounded as though she were pouting. “I mean, I have spoken to him, but it’s not like I invited him to get a crush on me or anything.”�

“It’s all in his head, is it?”� asked her companion.

_It always is just in my head_ , thought Neville. _It never is real. It never comes true. Everything’s just in my head._

She sniffed. “Why should I care? He couldn’t work up the nerve to tell me that he fancied me. Why should I have a care about that? It doesn’t matter that I might have known, he should have said something. Anyways, you had an idea.”�

“I did. But, as you said, he didn’t do anything. Poor old sod. He's always getting it, isn't he?”�

“Oh, well, it’s a bit too late to worry about all of that, isn’t it?”� she giggled.

“You’re right, it’s all the better for me, then,”� he laughed. “Besides, he should know better when it comes to you.”�

“What is that supposed to mean?”�

“He would have never had a shot with someone like you.”�

Neville felt the blood rush from his head down to his feet.

There was more of the wet humming noise.

“We should probably leave here, then, if he comes out here,”� she murmured.

“Do you have any place else in mind?”�

He heard her giggle again and then she said, “Follow me...”�

He listened to their footsteps as they walked away.

_Crunch, crunch, snap, rustle, crunch. Giggle. Laugh. Crush._

He finally opened his eyes. “Bugger,”� he said softly.

He shook his head. He had thought that she had been a woman. But he was wrong. She was just a little girl.

He swallowed and took a glance above him.

The cloud that he had spotted earlier, the one that he thought might have been a bird, was closer.

For a moment, he wanted to believe that he still had a chance. That he could still make a wish or something.

The cloud continued to drift down. It started to take on the appearance of something. It started to look like a heart. Not the anatomically correct kind of heart ( _gross_ ), but the artistic, curvy kind of heart.

He started to think that perhaps he did have a chance indeed.

As it came closer and finally fell from the sky, his shoulders fell along with it and he hung his head to stare at it.

He thought it was a cloud, but it was just a napkin, crumpled and white.

Neville started to laugh to himself.

It hurt, but he laughed nonetheless.

He had fancied her so much...but her friend — no, boyfriend, was right, he should have known better.

He **did** know better.

He, Neville Longbottom, was a mess, was still a mess, and no one ever wants to clean up a mess.

He reached out for the wrinkled napkin with a shaking hand.

_Crush. Yes. They are called that for a reason. And I know what it’s like to be crushed. I feel like a pile of Thestral you-know-what about now._

He smoothed out the napkin and looked at it.

Scrawled, in a hurried but deft hand, was a simple design. Two dots with an upward curve beneath it. **:)** A smiley face.

Neville started laughing again.

Crushes hurt, but in a way, that worked for him. He didn’t have much of a chance of being loved by anyone, so at least he could feel a crush instead of...nothing.

Something was better than nothing.

He neatly folded the napkin and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

Yeah, crushes hurt. And he was crushed.

But it would be okay.

It was just typical. Besides, he was fairly certain that he shouldn’t want someone who didn’t want him in the first place.

Fairly certain.

He sighed and stood, straightening his robes and wiping the odd blade of grass or piece of bark away.

It **had** been a good day.

Now it was just an ordinary day in the life of Wibble Fartbottom, the Lord of the Puffs. Yes. It was just another every day for him.

He nodded his head in silent affirmation, gave the napkin a pat, and then started to walk toward the school.

 

**”**


End file.
